The Scar
by kayaklady
Summary: Summary: As William Tecumseh Sherman closes in on Atlanta one of his lieutenants runs across a woman whom he has unknowingly met before. A warning to fans of The Young Riders this story mentions a major character's death. Laramie fans don't need to be familiar with YR. YR fans only need to know that the actor playing Slim Sherman had a scar on his cheek from childhood.


**The Scar  
** By Kayaklady

 **Disclaimer:** Neither Laramie nor The Young Riders belong to me, however, the original situations contained in this story do.

 **Dedication:** A special thanks to my loving husband, he makes sure I don't bore my audience to tears with passive voice and catches other errors as well.

Somewhere between Tennessee and Georgia 1864

The lieutenant stretched his long, lean frame standing up in the stirrups to give himself a better view of the farm which would be his headquarters for the night. Wisps of smoke, rising from the tiny chimney, spoke to him of his home far to the west. He sighed pressing his lips together at the thought of what the place would look like in the morning. Sadly, orders were orders and his were clear. Hungry men couldn't make war as well as fed ones. So this little place would get stripped like all of the others. If the farmers put up resistance the house would get fired, and the foodless survivors left to fend for themselves with neither home, nor hope. Shaking his head, he settled back into the mule's saddle and kneed Hannibal back into his bone jarring walk.

Sergeant Cory ambled alongside, "Maybe this place will have a horse for you. Not fittin' for you to be on a jug head."  
The tall blond leaned forward in the saddle and scratched between the mule's floppy ears, "I'm just grateful this old boy isn't gun shy. I doubt if there is a horse for miles as the Rebs probably took them all."  
The sergeant turned his craggy face up at him, "More'n likely. Still one can hope."  
"Sure enough."

Sergeant Mort Cory looked down; Matt's eldest had a habit of slurring the word sure so it always came out sounding like shure. The boy had done it from childhood and no amount of correction ever fixed it. _"Heck,"_ he thought, _"Slim'll probably go to his grave say'n shure. I just hope that day is a long time from now."_

The two men fell into a companionable silence and continued their trek.

L*YR*L*SR

Corporal Gaybourne hustled over and snapped a salute as they came into the farmyard, "Lieutenant Sherman, we've acquisitioned a barrel of flour, 2 sacks of grain, a half bushel of apples, a side of pork, a small coop of chickens, and miscellaneous garden vegetables."  
"Resistance?"  
Gaybourne jerked his finger toward the porch, "None sir, just the woman and baby there."

Slim Sherman looked at the brown haired woman standing with her arms crossed across her chest glaring at him from where she stood near a cradle. She spat, "You any relation to the General?"  
Slim dismounted and walked over to her, "No ma'am…"

Slim's reply was cut off by 'Glasses' Goshen thundering into the yard whooping, "Glory be, look what I found." The paint he was leading pinned back her ears, shying away from the loud man who continued to prance about in a sort of victory dance.

The woman bit off a cuss word then spat, "Well you got it all. Now git your sorry hides off my property."

Slim was startled to discover that her speech didn't hold a trace of the southern accents he'd been struggling to understand since crossing into Tennessee and now into Georgia. He smoothed his face out and tipped his hat to her, "Sorry ma'am but we will be bivouacking here tonight. "  
Her eyes were glacial, "Oh that's just peachy." She turned and scooped up the cradle with the baby inside. "Come on Eric let's let our guests just make themselves at home." Then she stalked into the house slamming the door behind her.

Slim walked over to the horse and took the lead rope from Glasses. Running his hand along the brown and white hide he remarked, "Well you shure are a pretty one."  
"She sure is lieutenant."  
"Thank you private that will be all." Slim ran his hand across the paint's flanks soothing her with quiet words and a firm touch. He ran his hand across the brand and marveled how this eastern brand was just like one he'd seen at home.

He turned at the sound of the door opening and footsteps crossing the porch. The woman was back this time holding a broom in a white knuckled death grip. "I suppose you'll be the one riding her tomorrow."  
"Yes ma'am."  
She nodded, "She was my husband's. Her name's Katie, she'll run all day and half the night. You treat her right now."  
"I'm surprised he didn't take her with him when he rode off to war."  
"Kid weren't a fool. He didn't want some Yank shooting her out from under him." Her voice grew softer, "Thought I could keep her safe and hid till he got home." Her voice hardened, "But he ain't coming back and now she's going off to war anyway." She paused then bitterly added, " Ain't that just grand."

Slim was searching for something to say when a commotion from the creek distracted him. One of his men was leading a jersey cow out of the draw. As the soldier drew near he called out to Slim, "Hey lieutenant you gonna have milk for supper tonight."

He heard it then, a low growl in a tongue he'd thought he'd left behind him on his prairie homeland. He whirled to see her leap like a panther off the porch and smack Gaybourne in the sweet spot on his jaw. The man went down without a sound, and the broom handle snapped like a twig. She charged Slim then, pulling a wicked knife from under her apron. He closed to disarm her, but she evaded his grab like she'd done it before. Reluctantly he threw a punch and she blocked it with a forearm.

Then Slim made an unpleasant discovery, skirts hide the telegraph signal that screams leg sweep. The big blond found himself down on the ground with her coming down on top; the knife tracking him along his cheek and laying it open like a filleted fish. Slim looked past her and saw Mort leveling his pistol at her back.

At the sound of the weapon cocking a grim smile came over the woman's face. Her shoulders straightened as Slim screamed, "No!"

Mort stepped closer and brought the butt down on her head. She collapsed across Slim's chest while Mort yelled, "What in tar-nation do you mean no. She's trying to kill you."

Slim pulled a bandanna from his pocket and held it to his cheek. The cloth immediately turned a darker shade of red. "Didn't you hear what she said?" he asked rolling her unconscious body off his own.  
"Yeah, some dad gummed thing in injun… funny she sure don't look injun."  
Slim's voice turned soft, "It was Cheyenne."  
Mort's brow creased, "Cheyenne, here? What the heck did she say?"  
"It's a good day to die. She came close to getting her wish too." Slim stood up and swayed, "One of you men make sure she isn't carrying any other weapons and then secure her inside. Nobody do anything else till I have a chance to talk with her. Am I clear?"  
Mort grabbed Slim's elbow, "Yeah you're clear. Now let's see about getting that cut stitched up."

The surgeon stitched him up remarking, "This scar will be with you for a good long time." He popped a leather strap into Slim's mouth and ordered, "Hold still cause this is going to hurt." Then he poured a bit of moonshine over the newly stitched wound. Slim finally got his eyes to stop watering when a somewhat groggy corporal Gaybourne reported that the woman was awake.

Slim found her tied to a chair. At his approach she stared at him with hardened eyes and her face locked in stone. "Why?" he snarled. No response so he tried again, "Why is it a good day to die?"  
Her eyes went wide and he continued, "That's right I speak Cheyenne." He let his shoulders slump and he sank into a chair next to her. His fatigue softened his voice as he added, "What I want to know is how you know it, and why you'd set yourself up to be killed."

She thought for a moment and then answered, "A friend of mine taught me that saying when Kid and I lived in Sweetwater, Wyoming about a million years ago." She sighed and jerked her chin toward the sink. Glass baby bottles were propped upside down in a makeshift drying rack. Her shoulders slumped as she continued, "I'm dry Mister. I figured as long as I held onto the cow I could keep my baby fed. No cow and little Eric'll starve. But if I was dead then I figured you'd take my son somewhere," she licked her lips, "Somewhere where he'd get fed."  
"You were making a mighty big assumption. Wouldn't you expect us to just ride out?"  
"Not all you Yanks are evil. A couple of good friends of mine wear blue. If you didn't take Eric then I figured one of your men would."  
"So just like that you'd make your child an orphan?"  
"Not a great way to grow up, but I survived it. Boy's pa did too. The point was he'd be fed; so it seemed simple enough."

Slim rubbed the back of his neck as he put a few puzzle pieces together. He jerked his head up and exclaimed, "Your husband, Kid, he rode with the Express."  
"Yes he did. How'd you know that?"  
"We ran a relay station outside Laramie. I recognized Katie's brand from when he'd leave her with us going eastbound."  
She let out a whistle, "Dad gum it's a small world."

"What brought you out here?" Slim asked."Long story. We got married just before Sumner fell. Kid was Virginian so we went to the Shenandoah where he grew up. The fighting got kind of hot up there; so I moved down here figuring it was safer. That sure didn't work out."  
Slim rose from his chair. "No I guess not," he said walking across the room and out the door.

He returned a few minutes later carrying private Goshen's wire rimmed spectacles. He placed them on the woman's face as she squawked, "What the blazes are these for?"

He stared and then spoke softly, "You… rode with the Express too. If I remember right it was Lou, Lou McCloud."  
"Well ain't you the smart one. Yeah that was me. Nobody knew I was a girl back then." She paused, "If'n I remember you were called Slim."  
"It's Lieutenant Sherman now, and you've put me in one heck of a jam given what my orders are when someone attacks my men." He pulled the glasses off her face. "Sorry Lou, you're not going to like 'em much." He left the cabin then and didn't return.

When little Eric started fussing Sergeant Cory came inside and grabbed a couple bottles and some diapers. Picking up the crying child he reassured Lou, "Don't you fret now. More than one man in this camp has taken care of a baby. Not to mention that cow of yours needs a good milking."

Lou watched through the window as various men took turns feeding, diapering and playing with her son. The sun was setting when the now sleeping infant was returned to his cradle. She fell asleep in the chair wondering what the morning would bring.

In the middle of the night she awoke with a huge hand covering her mouth and Slim's voice hissing in her ear, "Not a sound. Now if I give you a chance to get loose do you promise to clear out of here and make no more war on my men or the Union?" She nodded. Slim removed his hand from her mouth. "Good, break your word and I'll have this whole unit on your tail." Then he placed a chunk of sharp glass in her bound hands. "If you're still here in the morning I'll have to take you to the nearest prison camp." Slim rose to go. "Katie is tied up with my mule near the creek, the only watch is up here in camp, and the guard changes at 4. Someone might have stashed a saddlebag near the horse with a few supplies inside and several cans of milk." Slim dropped his businesslike tone adding, "I hope we don't cross paths again."

Lou spoke quietly, "I'm done with this war and I'm done with this place. You won't see me again, that I can promise you." Slim reached for the door handle when she added, "Ride safe Slim Sherman."

Slim's eyes shone at the remembrance of the old pony express blessing, "Ride safe Lou." Then he was gone as quietly as he'd come in.

In the morning Slim's men found where the chair had been moved in the night and a lantern broken. A chunk of bloody glass, rough cut ropes, an empty cradle, and the missing Paint gave evidence of Lou and her son's escape.

After the war Slim checked around Sweetwater for Lou and little Eric, but no one had seen them. He often wondered if they'd gotten out of Georgia, and where they'd gone.

The End


End file.
